Can't Fight This Feeling
by Writing Rebel
Summary: Dean chases after a dream. Sequel to Music Box Blues. AU. Set pre-season four. Hope you like it...


**Author's Note:**** Hello again! You have successfully found the sequel to Music Box Blues. I only have two things to say about this one.**

**One: I just wanted to let you know that this was written not long after Music Box Blues. So it too was written all those years ago.**

**And two: I just wanted remind you guys that this takes place before Season Four and is AU.**

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Dean Winchester drove slowly through the uptown Louisville neighborhood, keeping an eye out for the street sign that read Tigris Lane. As he searched for every street sign he could find, he took in the spring scenery. Dean had figured that Kentucky would still be cold and white in the early weeks of May, but it was far from it.

The trees were all covered in greens both bold and pastel. Some even had small blossoms growing from the limbs. The grass was bright and lively. Children were out playing in their yards with friends and pets. This small neighborhood was one of the most calming scenes that he had ever seen.

But as he turned onto Tigris Lane and found the house that he was looking for, that calm quickly dissipated. By the time that he had pulled up to the curb next to the driveway and turned off the car, he was reduced to nothing but nerves. He still couldn't figure out how he had let Sam, and Bobby, talk him into doing this.

After all, it had been eight years since the last time he seen her. How did he know that she hadn't moved on? Met someone else? Gotten married and had a couple of kids? What if she didn't even want to see him? He wouldn't blame her. Not after the way that he had left. I mean, his only good-bye had been a note.

But when he had presented all of these arguments to Sam, his baby brother had told him that it didn't matter. Sam had told Dean that he knew that if Dean didn't go see if any chance was left, he would regret it.

And then Bobby had later said, after he had finally heard the story, that if she felt even half of what Dean had obviously felt, still felt, there was hope for him. The old man's words rang in Dean's head.

_"Don't let something like that slip through your hands if there's even the slightest chance that it doesn't have to."_

Dean took in a deep breathe before opening his car door and stepping out onto the freshly cut lawn. With a few more deep breathes, which were supposed to be calming and relaxing, he made his way up the driveway, climbing the steps in front of the porch when he got to them and found himself standing in front of the door.

He quickly knocked, afraid that he would lose his nerve.

"Just a minute!"

Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Oh God, the jacket. It was then that he remembered that he had worn the jacket that she had given him. When he left the motel in Memphis that morning, he had needed the jacket on. It was a constant reminder of why he was doing this.

But now he found himself regretting the fact that he hadn't thought to leave it in the car. What if she thought that it was weird that he was still wearing the same jacket she had given him eight years ago.

The front door opening brought him out of his silent panic. A small bundle of black curls and cloth raced past Dean and he turned to see that it was a little boy who was currently running through the yard.

Dean had fight through a sudden sinking feeling. He had been right. She had moved on and that was her little boy. For just a short minute Dean hoped that the little boy was his, but soon remembered that it couldn't be. They had never had sex. And that right there was a very important part of making a baby.

"Hey, you had better not cross that street without looking both ways. Your mother would kill me!"

A woman from across the street climbed out of an SUV laughing. The little boy ran up and hugged her legs. "Mommy, guess what me and Ms. Libby did after I finished my homework?"

"What did you guys do?" the woman asked as she waved over towards the house the little boy had just come from and ushered the chatting boy into their house.

Dean no longer felt like he was drowning. That wasn't her child. There was still a chance. He hadn't even realized that he wanted there to be one, a chance that is, until he thought that it had been taken away.

Dean turned back towards the door as the woman standing in it began talking.

"Sorry about that. I'm guessing that you didn't come knock on my door so that you could get trampled by a six-year-old." The woman paused, shock clear on her face, when she finally looked up at the man standing in front of her. "Dean."

"Hey Libs."

"What are you doing here?"

Dean shrugged. "I was in the neighborhood?"

"Well, uh," she backed up into the house making room for him to pass her, "do you want to come in?"

Dean smiled as he nodded and walked into the once familiar house. He followed her as she walked towards the kitchen once she had closed the front door. When they walked into the kitchen, Dean was surprised to find the floor between the oven and the island was covered in white.

Dean laughed. "What the hell happened in here Libs?"

"Jake and I were making a cake and we kind of … made a mess."

"Well I can see that." He continued to laugh as she rolled her eyes and walked over to get some wet paper towels. "Do you want some help?" He didn't wait for her to reply before grabbing some of the towels in her hand.

"Oh no. Dean you don't have to that."

"Well, I'm already down here, so I might as well just keep doing it."

Libby knelt down and began wiping at the floor with Dean.

"How much flour did the two of you spill?" Dean asked as he walked into the living room and plopped down on the far end of the sofa.

Libby laughed. "I don't know. But I think that it started to reproduce." She also sat on the couch, curling up next to Dean. "Dean?"

He looked down at her. "Huh?"

"Why are you here?" He opened his mouth to answer her. "And don't give me that I was in the neighborhood crap. What are you really doing here?"

"I, um," he cleared his throat. "I came to see you?" He winced as the statement came out as more of a question.

"Why?"

Dean's throat started to burn.

"Why'd you wait all these years, Dean?"

"I couldn't come before. I had to finish that job that me and my dad were doing. But I'm done now. Retired I guess you could say. And…" he paused as he looked down at the woman beside him.

She looked almost the same as she had all those years ago. Her hair was still the same messy mane of curls that it had been. The only difference was that, instead of cascading softly down her back, her dark brown curls fell only to her shoulders. Her eyes were the same smoldering aqua blue with bits of brown gathered around the pupils. Her sun-kissed skin still glowed.

And he realized that, without a doubt in his mind, he still loved her. And he wanted to have his real chance with her.

"And I wanted to see you. To see if, maybe, there was still any chance for us to be, you know, together."

Her hazel blue eyes widened to the size of saucers. "W-what?"

Dean broke the gaze that they had been sharing. "I knew that I shouldn't have come. Man, Sammy was wrong. I knew that he would be. Why would you have waited for eight friggin' years on the off chance that I might come back." he quickly stood from the couch, grabbing his jacket off of the back off a chair in the living room and started to make his way for the door.

"Wait!"

Dean ignored her soft footfalls as she followed him. He had been so stupid. He should have never listened to Sammy. He should never have even told his brother about the woman. And he sure as hell shouldn't have come here.

He was in the middle of the yard, half way back to the car, when he felt a hand on his arm and Libby was standing in front of him.

"You know smart one, when someone says wait, that usually means that they want to talk to you."

"What Libs? You want to stop me so that you ridicule me for being so stupid, huh? For honestly thinking that you would wait after I just left without a goodbye? Well, come on, let's get the 'Dean-is-such-an-idiot' party started." He looked down into her eyes, the eyes that he had so easily fallen in love all those years before, and saw the hurt and confusion now swimming in them.

"I wanted to ask you if you were serious in there. About wanting to see if there was still a chance for us?"

Dean wanted to lie. Tell her that it was just a joke. But then he would never know. They'd probably go back inside and have a couple of drinks, though Libby would make sure that they were non-alcoholic since he would be driving, and then he would leave and he would never know if she had ever felt for him what he still felt for her.

But, his only other option seemed just as bad. The only other thing that he could do was tell her the truth. That he had been being serious and take the chance that she didn't feel the same way.

Dean had never been one to go with the only options left to him. He always seemed to make his own option three. Now was no different.

"It doesn't matter if I meant it, Libs." He looked away from her, toward the Impala. "I should go."

He turned away from her and, walking toward his beloved car, felt tears burning in the back of eyes and moisture begin to pool on his cheeks.

"Dean, don't go. It does matter."

But again, Dean ignored her and continued to walk away.

"Dean." He could hear the irritation building in the woman's voice. He quickly opened his door, careful not to look up, and began climbing into the aging muscle car.

He heard her huff and grass crunch under her feet.

"Dean."

He started the engine, the comforting purr filling his ears.

Libby began yelling, he guessed to be heard over the roaring of a car. "Dean Winchester! If you don't get out of that car right now so that I can talk to you I swear to God. I don't care how much I love you I will kill you myself!"

As he turned the car back off, he noticed that the neighborhood had gotten eerily silent very quickly. He pushed himself out of the car and stared over the roof at Libby. She began walking over to him.

When she was standing directly in front of him, he asked, "What was that that you just said?"

"You mean the part where I threatened your life?"

Dean heard someone snicker and turned to find a older woman sitting on her porch with a glass of lemonade watching them very closely.

Libby's gaze followed his and she waved. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Packerson."

"Oh, hello, dear."

"No," Dean started, pulling her attention back to him, "the part right before that."

"Can we please talk about this inside?"

Dean shook his head, his own stubborn streak now shining through. "Nope. Now answer the question."

"I said that I love you."

"You love me."

She nodded. "Maybe just a little."

"Yeah?"

She just nodded again, a huge smile on her face as she looked up at him.

Dean quickly closed what little space was left between them, putting his hands on her hips and bringing his lips swiftly but gently to hers.

Standing there, on the side of a small neighborhood street, the sounds of children once again playing and dogs barking and old women gossiping loudly, wrapped in Libby's arms, Dean was truly happy for the first time in eight years.

_Maybe_, he thought, _listening to Sammy wasn't such a bad idea._

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**Author's Note:**** All right. What'd you think? Please let me know.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Writing Rebel**


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